The Fangover (The Fangover 1)

Although she quickly realized she wasn’t totally alone. Across the street and down a little ways, standing in a doorway, was a dark figure. Tall, almost unnaturally thin. She got the feeling it was male, and definitely creepy.

Katie decided she’d better head back toward Bourbon, at least close enough to have other people milling around. She started down St. Peter, her gait swift, although she tried not to appear unnerved in any way.

From behind her, she sensed rather than heard, or maybe she did hear—either way, she knew the dark figure had left the doorway and followed her.

She doubled her steps.

“Hey!” a voice called from a few feet behind her, male and gravelly.

She didn’t stop to look behind her.

“Hey,” he shouted again, and Katie could tell the guy was getting closer. In fact, she sensed that he was going to touch her, even before a hand clamped down on her shoulder. She didn’t need to see the hand to know she was being touched by a large palm and long, bony fingers.

Alarmed, she spun and swung at the creepy figure. Her poorly fisted hand connected with the side of his head, and to her amazement, the man reeled under the force of her hit, literally lifting off the ground and slamming against the wooden shutters of the building beside them. The tall figure crumpled to the ground like a flung-aside rag doll.

Katie knew this was her chance to flee, but she couldn’t move, too amazed at what she’d just done. Was she really that strong now? Or had that been a lucky punch?

Really? Was now the time to wonder about her preternatural abilities? This was her opportunity to get away from this weirdo; she could debate her possible superhuman strength somewhere else.

She turned to rush away, only to stop again when she heard his pained, mumbled words. “I just wanted my parrot.”

Slowly, she spun back to the man, who still lay slumped against the wall, holding a large hand with long, thin fingers to the side of his head. His face was hidden by shadows, and she was reminded of a skeleton. But as she stared at his prone body, she realized he reminded her of more than a skeleton—something about his dirty shorts and tank was actually familiar.

Katie crept closer, although she made sure not to get close enough that he could suddenly reach out and grab her. She’d seen enough horror movies to know how these situations could go.

But then again, she would probably be considered the monster in this scenario. Totally weird.

“Your parrot?” she said to the man.

“Winston.”

Katie thought about the red bird back at Cort’s apartment. She would have gone with Satan, herself. Maybe Beelzebub. But she supposed Winston could work, too.

That was, if they were talking about the same parrot. She caught herself. Really? What were the chances of a stranger chasing her to get a parrot back if he wasn’t looking for the parrot they had? New Orleans was a strange place, but not that strange.

Of course, this was a newly created vampire thinking this. Maybe it was that weird, but she still doubted it.

“You didn’t lose Winston, did you?” The man tried to struggle upright, but groaned, pressing a hand back to the place where she’d hit him.

Guilt filled her, and she tossed her better judgment to the wind and stepped forward to help him. She immediately regretted her moment of sympathy as his overwhelming stench assaulted her nostrils. She suppressed a gag, and continued to hold his arm until he struggled to his feet.

He swayed slightly, but as soon as he seemed to have his balance, she released him and backed away. She was sorry she couldn’t be more helpful, especially when she’d been the one to hurt him, but that smell. It was like the man just rolled out of bed from cuddling with a skunk and then bathed in a hot, decomposing landfill.

“Did you lose him?” He sounded so heartbroken, that for a moment Katie forgot the stench.

He stepped forward, his face coming fully into the light of the streetlamp for the first time. Again, Katie got the feeling she’d seen this man before. Well, obviously she had, but she actually recognized him. Maybe she was actually remembering something from last night. She searched her brain, but nothing definitive came to her.

“Did you lose Winston?” he asked again.

Katie shook her head, studying him closer, trying to remember where and when they’d met last night, and maybe, just maybe, the events that surrounded the meeting.

“Does your husband still have him?”

Husband? Well, he must have been a part of her sham wedding celebration, and didn’t know that she and Cort weren’t really married.

That silly feeling of disappointment weighed on her chest again.

“Yes, Winston is still with Cort,” she managed to say past that heavy tightness.

The man smiled, but only briefly as his large hand returned to the side of his head and he grimaced.

“You pack a hell of a wallop for such a tiny thing.”

“I’m—I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. She supposed that was part of now being a vampire that she’d have to be aware of. She was very strong. And fast.

Even though she wasn’t pleased that she’d actually hurt this man, she had to admit, it was kind of thrilling to be able to protect herself in a way she wouldn’t have been able to before. It certainly didn’t make her the typical girl next door that she’d always considered herself.

“Could we go get him?” the dirty man said, still rubbing his head.

Katie would love nothing more than to give this man back his bird. She was certain Cort would love nothing more, too, but there was no way she was going back to Cort’s place. Not yet. She couldn’t face Cort yet. She felt too confused and fragile.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, “but I can’t.”

The man frowned through his layers of filth. “Why not? I mean, I know it’s not proper to ask for a wedding gift back, but I was so hyped up from dancing and whatnot, and I didn’t think through giving you Winston.”

The parrot had been a wedding gift. Of course. Why else would they have the bird? Right . . . just more weirdness.

It was already strange enough that this . . . well, he appeared to be a vagrant . . . would have a talking parrot.

“He’s my best friend,” the man added.

A talking parrot as a best friend. It all made perfect sense. Totally.

The vagrant stepped closer and again, Katie backed away.

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said, and she believed he was sincere. The problem was, his scent just might.

“Please don’t worry. I’m sure Cort—” When the man frowned, Katie clarified by saying, “My husband will gladly give you back Winston. We’d never expect you to part with something so dear to you.”